


Just a Drink

by Rosie_Dayze



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 03:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16009376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Dayze/pseuds/Rosie_Dayze
Summary: Readerfic where Poe Dameron and the MC have an on again off again relationship. He comforts reader during a time of crisis.





	Just a Drink

The cantina is loud. The scent of liquor imported from a hundred worlds mingles with the musk of pilots, smugglers, and a half dozen other people who have no desire to be found by the First Order. Batuu isn’t a hospitable planet, but it is easily overlooked.

You bring a drink to your lips. The bitter taste of week old water dressed with herbs tickles your throat. No alcohol for you tonight. The meds they pumped you full of have already left your head feeling light.

“Pilot,” the voice is warm, bordering on gentle.

You look up, feel your heart go heavy in your chest. It doesn’t match the buoyant attitude of the rebels around you. They dance, feet flying, with the jazzy tunes of Bith musicians. There is a hard edge to their celebrations. The laughter is too sharp, the flirtations too forced. Everyone wants to pretend like they aren’t stressed, yourself included.

“Poe, I think we moved past calling one another by titles a long time ago.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It’s only now you notice that the eyes are filled with something you didn’t expect; worry.

“I didn’t know,” he says. The music swells and he takes the seat next to you so he doesn’t have to scream to be heard over the tumult. Your vision is filled with that damndably pretty face of his. The eyes, dark as evening pools and lips that look soft and kissable all at once. You don’t know if you want to move away, or slide closer. His smile is a little more genuine when he says, “The last time we spoke, you slapped me in the face and told me never to look at you again.”

“Fair enough,” you respond, taking another sip of your drink. It doesn’t taste good, but your headache is absolving.

“I heard about your ship. I’m sorry.”

So are you. The Upstart was your ship. It had been since the dawn of your smuggling days, before you decided to sign up with General Organa and the rest of these rebels. Before, you admit silently to yourself, you decided to follow him.

Now the ship is gone, blown to pieces, and you are a wreck posing as calm.

“Well, we had a good run.”

“Are you talking about the ship?” he asks, leaning so close that his next words are breathed across your own lips. “Or you and I?”

For a moment you aren’t sure if he is joking, flirting, or some strange mix of the two. Moreover you aren’t sure which you hope for. Growing up you had been sure of the kind of person you’d want. Someone who was sweet enough to be devoted, but not smart enough to know that all those credits in your account were exactly legally earned. Poe was sweet, but devoted? To the cause maybe. He’d made that clear enough. And you’d call him a lot of things before you called him dumb.

And yet, every time he walked by your eyes seemed doomed to follow. Every time he smiled, your heart felt a little lighter. Even now, with your ship dead and the rebellion barely holding itself together on a planet that no one would ever want to live on, you find it hard to not just reach out and touch him.

“Let’s not,” you say, pulling back.

He looks surprised. “What?”

“Poe, we’ve traveled this shipping lane a thousand times before. It never works.” It hurts to say, even if you know it’s true. “It doesn’t work. It never works.”

He shoves a hand through his hair. The rumpled, dark locks spring out in a hundred directions. One particularly stubborn curl ribbons across his forehead. “It would work if you stopped walking away from me.”

Your grip tightens on your cup. “I’m not the only one who walks away, Poe.” You shake your head, fix your gaze on him, and swallow down the pain that has nothing to do with having survived the crash of your ship and livelihood. “You put everything before me.”

“The rebellion-”

“Is not the only thing I’m talking about. I get how much this cause means to you. It means something to me too.”

“A paycheck,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” you say, unflinching. “I’m a damn good smuggler and I like getting paid for what I provide. But you know that I don’t charge the rebellion half of what I could, barely even a third. So don’t wave the fact that I need those credits to keep my ship...” You stop, remembering all too well that there isn’t a ship anymore. You throat closes and the headache returns full force. Tears, unwanted and hot, spring to your eyes. You curse softly.

His arm comes around you, and you have no desire to pull away. He is warm, stable, and everything you need. Your tears are heavy, and they stain the dark orange of his flight suit. You don’t care, and, you suspect, neither does he. His hand brushes up and down your back. He whispers words into your ear that you can’t really hear because of the music. But you don’t need to hear them. You know what he’s saying. You know his tone.

The Upstart had been your pride and joy, now it’s gone. Now you are stuck. You hate being stuck anywhere. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were the one walking away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, looking up. He stops you with a finger on your lips.

“You’ve never needed to apologize to me.” He brings his lips to yours, the kiss is gentle, soft, and nearly chaste. “I love you for who you are.”

“Still?” you ask.

He shrugs, and pulls you closer. The line of your body mates to his. “I wont say that what we are makes sense. I never know which way is up or down with you. But I’d rather not know the direction, than lose my way entirely.”


End file.
